Chapter 8: Henny & Hot Wax
The smell of bleach and green soap had been chased out by something sweeter, spicier. Hennessy vapors hung in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of burning weed. “The Neon Crown” was transformed. The sterile workstations were pushed against the walls, covered in red plastic cups and half-eaten slices of pizza. Someone had strung fairy lights over the front counter, casting a soft, shimmering glow over the displays of jewelry and aftercare products.
Music thumped from a Bluetooth speaker—something bass-heavy and rhythmic that made the tattoo needles in their sterile packs vibrate in their drawers.
Anaijiah leaned against her own station, a warm, pleasant buzz humming under her skin. The confrontation with Kayla and Dove felt weeks ago, not days. A fragile truce had settled, born from Kayla’s fierce, frustrated love and Anaijiah’s immovable will. This party was Kayla’s olive branch, her way of saying, I don’t like it, but you’re mine, so I’ll try.
“Surprise, bitch!” Kayla had yelled when Anaijiah walked in after her last client, a conspiratorial grin on her face. Dove had clapped, looking nervously between Anaijiah and the door.
It wasn’t a huge crowd. Just the shop’s inner circle: Kayla, Dove, Malik the other tattoo artist, and a few of their regulars who were more friends than clients. The vibe was easy, familiar. But the air shifted an hour in.
The bell above the door didn’t jangle. It was pushed open with a deliberate, silent force.
Nevaieh stood in the doorway. She wasn’t in her usual red, but in black jeans and a fitted black tee that showed off the full sleeve of ink on one arm, the fresh, vibrant rose on the other. A single red bandana hung from her back pocket—a statement more than a uniform. Her presence was a physical thing, a drop in pressure that made the laughter stumble for a beat.
Everyone looked. Malik set his cup down slowly. Dove froze mid-sip.
Anaijiah felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Nevaieh’s eyes scanned the room, dismissive, until they landed on her. A spark ignited in that flat, assessing gaze.
Kayla, ever the hostess even when terrified, stepped forward. “You made it.”
Nevaieh gave a curt nod, her eyes not leaving Anaijiah. “Wouldn’t miss it.” Her voice cut through the music, quiet but absolute.
She moved into the room with a predator’s grace, the space around her parting without anyone consciously moving. She went straight to Anaijiah, ignoring the others. Up close, Anaijiah could see the fine lines of fatigue around her eyes, the new, small cut on her knuckles.
“Hey,” Anaijiah said, smiling.
Nevaieh didn’t smile back. She reached out, her calloused fingers tracing the line of Anaijiah’s jaw, a gesture so openly possessive it made the breath catch in Anaijiah’s throat. “Hey yourself.”
Then Nevaieh did something Anaijiah had never seen, never imagined. She closed the small distance and kissed her. Not the savage, consuming kisses of the loft, but something softer, yet no less definitive. A claiming in front of witnesses. Her lips were warm, tasting of whiskey and mint. She lingered, one hand sliding to the back of Anaijiah’s neck, holding her there for a few heartbeats too long for it to be casual.
When she pulled back, a faint, satisfied smirk touched her mouth. The room had gone quiet except for the music.
“Get you a drink?” Anaijiah asked, her voice lower than she intended.
“I’ll get my own,” Nevaieh said, but her thumb stroked the sensitive skin behind Anaijiah’s ear before she let go.
She moved to the makeshift bar on a folding table, pouring two fingers of brown liquor into a cup. The party’s volume gradually swelled again, but it was stilted now, punctuated by glances stolen in Nevaieh’s direction. She stood apart, a dark planet with its own gravity, sipping her drink and watching.
Anaijiah rejoined Kayla and Dove near the piercings cabinet. Dove’s eyes were huge. “She’s so…”
“Intense?” Kayla finished dryly, her own eyes tracking Nevaieh. “That’s one word.”
“She kissed you,” Dove breathed, as if witnessing a minor miracle.
“She does that,” Anaijiah said, trying for nonchalance and failing. Her lips still tingled.
The night wore on. Nevaieh didn’t mingle, but she didn’t leave. She observed, occasionally nodding at something Malik said to her. She accepted a blunt from Kayla, a peace offering of sorts, and smoked it with an economical efficiency. Her eyes kept finding Anaijiah, a constant, warm pressure in the room.
Later, as the party began to wind down and goodbyes were said, Anaijiah found herself alone by the sink, washing cups. The music was lower now, a slow jam pulsing through the speakers.
She felt Nevaieh before she saw her. A presence at her back, the heat of a body close but not touching. The scent of weed and amber and her.
“Your friends are scared of me,” Nevaieh murmured into her ear.
Anaijiah didn’t turn, her hands still in the soapy water. “They’re protective.”
“They should be.” Nevaieh’s hands came down on the stainless steel sink on either side of Anaijiah, caging her in. Her lips brushed the shell of Anaijiah’s ear. “Told you I’d send a car tonight. Didn’t need to. Wanted to see you in your world.”
“And?” Anaijiah asked, leaning back into her, feeling the solid strength of Nevaieh’s body.
“It’s clean.” Nevaieh’s voice held a hint of something—not disdain, but a kind of weary distance. “Bright. Orderly.” One hand left the sink and slid around Anaijiah’s waist, pulling her closer. Her palm splayed low on Anaijiah’s stomach. “Doesn’t smell like you in here. Not the real you.”
Anaijiah’s breath hitched. “How do I smell?”
“Like sweat. And my come. And trouble.” Nevaieh’s teeth grazed Anaijiah’s neck, not biting, just tasting. “Want to fix that.”
From the front, Kayla called out, “We’re heading out, Ana! You good?”
Nevaieh’s hand tightened imperceptibly on Anaijiah’s stomach, a silent command.
“I’m good!” Anaijiah called back, her voice surprisingly steady. “Lock up on your way!”
The sounds of the final cleanup faded, the front lights snapped off, leaving only the fairy lights and the dim glow from the back room. The lock clicked in the door.
They were alone.
Nevaieh spun her around, her movements suddenly devoid of their earlier controlled languor. Her eyes were dark pools in the low light. “Up,” she said, her voice a rough scrape.
“What?”
“On the counter. Now.”
The command sent a jolt straight to Anaijiah’s core. She hoisted herself up onto the edge of the stainless steel piercing station, the surface cool through her jeans. Nevaieh stepped between her legs, pushing them apart with a firm knee.
“You looked so fucking pretty tonight,” Nevaieh growled, her hands on Anaijiah’s thighs, squeezing. “All smiling with your friends. Letting them celebrate you. My you.” She leaned in, her breath hot. “Made me want to ruin it. To remind everyone who you belong to.”
She kissed Anaijiah then, and all softness was gone. It was a devouring, a reclamation. Her tongue pushed past Anaijiah’s lips, demanding, tasting the sweet liquor there. One hand tangled in Anaijiah’s curly ginger hair, pulling just enough to sting. The other hand fumbled with the button of her jeans.
Anaijiah gasped into the kiss, her hands clutching at Nevaieh’s shoulders. The cold steel of the counter bit into her thighs, a stark contrast to the furnace heat of the woman against her.
Nevaieh yanked Anaijiah’s jeans and underwear down her hips in one rough motion. The air in the shop was cool on her exposed skin. Nevaieh broke the kiss, her eyes dropping down. She let out a low, appreciative growl. “Fuck. Look at you.”
Her fingers didn’t tease. They found Anaijiah wet and ready, a direct testament to the effect of Nevaieh’s mere presence. Nevaieh swore softly, filthily, as she pushed two fingers inside without preamble.
Anaijiah cried out, her head falling back. The position was exposing, vulnerable. She was spread open on her own work counter, pinned by Nevaieh’s relentless gaze and the deep, curling thrust of her fingers.
“This is where you play artist,” Nevaieh whispered, her face close, her fingers working in and out with a wet, obscene sound. “Where you make pretty pictures on pretty people.” She curled her fingers, scraping a spot that made Anaijiah see stars. “And this is where you get fucked. Where you come on my hand like a cheap whore.”
The words were crude, degrading, and they lit a fire in Anaijiah’s belly. She moaned, her hips rocking to meet Nevaieh’s thrusts. “Yes… god, yes…”
Nevaieh added a third finger, stretching her brutally, beautifully. Her thumb pressed hard on Anaijiah’s clit, circling with a ruthless precision. “You gonna come for me? Here, in your nice, clean shop? Gonna make a mess?”
Anaijiah could only nod, her world narrowing to the pressure building between her legs, the sharp scent of latex and antiseptic from the drawers beneath her, the dark, possessive hunger in Nevaieh’s face. The orgasm tore through her with shocking violence, a silent scream ripping from her throat as she convulsed around Nevaieh’s hand, her vision whiting out.
Before the last tremor had subsided, Nevaieh was unbuckling her own belt, shoving her jeans down just enough. She slicked herself with the wetness from her fingers, the head of her cock nudging against Anaijiah’s swollen entrance.
“Look at me,” Nevaieh commanded, her voice ragged.
Anaijiah forced her eyes open, meeting a gaze so feral it stole her breath.
Nevaieh drove into her in one deep, unforgiving stroke. Anaijiah gasped, her nails digging into Nevaieh’s arms. She was so full, stretched so exquisitely, the friction a bright, brutal pain-pleasure.
Nevaieh set a punishing pace from the start, her hips slamming into Anaijiah’s, the counter rattling against the wall with each thrust. There was no romance here, no pretense. This was raw need, territorial and stark. Nevaieh’s grunts filled the quiet shop, mingling with the slick slap of skin on skin, Anaijiah’s choked moans.
“Tell me whose you are,” Nevaieh gritted out, her breath coming in harsh gusts.
“Yours!” Anaijiah cried, the words punched out of her with each thrust.
“Louder.”
“Yours! I’m yours, Nevaieh!”
Nevaieh’s rhythm faltered, overcome by her own climax. She buried herself to the hilt, her body rigid as she pulsed inside Anaijiah, a guttural, almost pained sound tearing from her throat. She collapsed forward, bracing herself on the counter, her forehead dropping against Anaijiah’s shoulder.
They stayed like that for long minutes, the only sound their ragged breathing slowing in the dim light. Nevaieh was heavy and warm against her. Anaijiah traced the lines of the rose on her shoulder, the ink still vivid under her fingertips.
Nevaieh finally pulled back, withdrawing slowly. She took a step back to fix her clothes, her movements once again precise, controlled. The vulnerability of the moment was sealed away.
Anaijiah slid off the counter, her legs shaky. She pulled her jeans up, the denim rough against her sensitive flesh.
Nevaieh watched her, her expression unreadable. She pulled the red bandana from her back pocket and held it out. “Here.”
Anaijiah took it. The fabric was soft, worn.
“Keep it,” Nevaieh said, turning to look out the shop’s front window at the dark, empty street. “Things are gonna get messy soon. A meeting went wrong tonight.” She touched the cut on her knuckles absently. “That car I mentioned. It’ll be outside your place tomorrow. Use it. If you see this bandana on a car door, get in. No questions.”
The afterglow evaporated, replaced by a cold trickle of dread. “What happened?”
Nevaieh turned back, her face a mask of impassive steel. The woman who had just taken her on the piercing counter was gone, replaced by the general. “Nothing for you to worry about. Yet.” She reached out, cupped Anaijiah’s cheek, her thumb stroking gently. The contrast was jarring. “Just keep your head down. Do your art. And be ready.”
She kissed Anaijiah once more, hard and fast. “Lock up behind me.”
Then she was gone, melting into the Chicago night as seamlessly as she’d arrived.
Anaijiah stood alone in the silent, messy shop. The fairy lights twinkled cheerfully over the empty cups. The scent of sex and weed hung thick in the air. She looked down at the red bandana in her hand, a simple piece of fabric that felt like a weight. A claim, a warning, and a promise, all stitched into worn cotton.
The red bandana felt heavier than lead in her pocket during the cab ride across town. Anaijiah stared out the window at the blur of streetlights, Nevaieh a solid, silent line of heat beside her. The driver kept glancing in the rearview, sensing the wrong kind of tension. Nevaieh’s hand rested on Anaijiah’s thigh, a brand through the denim, her thumb stroking absent circles that felt like a countdown.
Her condo building was a renovated factory, all exposed brick and polished concrete. It smelled of lavender floor cleaner and someone’s slow-cooking curry down the hall. It was her sanctuary, her clean, bright proof of making it. Nevaieh stepped inside and stopped, her eyes doing a slow inventory of the framed art prints, the thriving fiddle-leaf fig, the tidy kitchen.
“Nice,” she said, the word neutral.
“It’s home,” Anaijiah replied, throwing her keys into a ceramic bowl. The sound was too loud.
Nevaieh grunted, already shrugging off her leather jacket. She moved through the space with a prowler’s ease, touching nothing, but occupying it completely. She found the plush grey sofa and sank into it, pulling a sleek black case from her jacket pocket. She began to unpack it on the coffee table: a bag of weed, a pack of wraps, a lighter.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Anaijiah said, the dryness in her voice unintended.
“I am,” Nevaieh said, not looking up, her fingers already deftly crumbling the dark green buds. The rhythmic, familiar sound filled the quiet room.
Anaijiah watched her for a moment—the focused frown, the precise movements. This was a ritual, a settling. She took a breath. “Be right back.”
She walked to her bedroom, leaving the door open. She could feel Nevaieh’s gaze on her back, a physical pressure. She stripped off her shop clothes, the smell of sweat and sex and disinfectant clinging to them. The shower could wait.
She opened a drawer and pulled out the shorts. They were ludicrously small, just frayed denim cuffs hugging the very bottom of her cheeks. She stepped into them, the coarse material sliding up her thighs. She didn’t put on a top. She turned towards the bedroom door, knowing Nevaieh could see the silhouette from the living room light.
She walked back out slowly.
Nevaieh had finished rolling. Two perfect blunts lay on the table. She was leaning back into the sofa, one arm spread across the back, and her eyes locked onto Anaijiah the moment she reappeared. Her gaze traveled down, then back up, a predatory slowness to it. The cigarette paper in her fingers paused.
“Comfy?” Nevaieh asked, her voice a low rasp.
“Getting there,” Anaijiah said, approaching the sofa.
She didn’t sit beside her. She walked around the coffee table and stood in front of Nevaieh, within the space of her parted knees. The air conditioning raised goosebumps on her bare skin. Nevaieh’s eyes were pure, undiluted hunger.
“This a new lesson?” Nevaieh’s hand came up, her fingers tracing the hem of the shorts where they bit into Anaijiah’s thigh. “Chicago rules for teasing?”
“Miami rules,” Anaijiah breathed, swaying slightly. “Sometimes the bait chooses the hook.”
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Nevaieh’s face. Her other hand came up, capturing Anaijiah’s hip. Her thumb stroked the sharp jut of bone. “Yeah? And what’s the bait want?”
“To see what happens.”
Nevaieh’s grip tightened, yanking Anaijiah forward so she stumbled, knees hitting the sofa cushion on either side of Nevaieh’s legs. She was now straddling her lap, the thin denim of the shorts and Nevaieh’s jeans the only barrier. Nevaieh’s hands slid around to grip Anaijiah’s bare ass, squeezing hard.
“What happens,” Nevaieh said, looking up at her, “is you get fucked.”
She leaned forward and took Anaijiah’s left nipple into her mouth, piercing and all. The sensation was electric, a sharp pull of wet heat and metal. Anaijiah gasped, her hands flying to Nevaieh’s shoulders. Nevaieh sucked, then bit down gently on the ring, tugging it until Anaijiah whimpered.
Nevaieh released her, leaning back. Her eyes were dark. “Take them off.”
Anaijiah rose on her knees, her hands trembling only slightly as she hooked her thumbs into the shorts and pushed them down. She stepped out of them, kicking them aside. She was completely naked now, standing before Nevaieh, who just watched, her expression unreadable.
“Sit,” Nevaieh commanded, patching her own thigh.
Anaijiah lowered herself back down, the coarse fabric of Nevaieh’s jeans abrasive against her bare skin. Nevaieh’s hands returned to her ass, pulling her closer until Anaijiah could feel the hard line of Nevaieh’s cock pressed against her. A throbbing heat bloomed right where they met.
Nevaieh reached for one of the blunts, lit it, took a deep pull. She held the smoke, her eyes watering slightly, then passed it to Anaijiah. Their fingers brushed. Anaijiah took a hit, the smoke burning a path of calm through her rising desire. She exhaled, a plume of grey joining the tension in the room.
Nevaieh took the blunt back, her other hand slipping between Anaijiah’s legs. Her fingers weren’t gentle. They found her wet, and Nevaieh made a low, appreciative sound in her throat. “Already soaked for me. Good.”
She drew her fingers through Anaijiah’s folds, spreading the wetness, then brought them to her own mouth, sucking them clean with a lewd intensity. “Tastes like my shop,” she murmured. “My claim on you.”
Anaijiah rocked her hips, seeking pressure, but Nevaieh held her still. “Nevaieh, please…”
“Please what?” Nevaieh took another hit, holding the smoke. She put the blunt in the ashtray and used both hands to spread Anaijiah open. She leaned forward, her breath hot. “You want my mouth on this perfect fucking pussy?”
Before Anaijiah could answer, Nevaieh’s tongue was on her. A flat, demanding lick from her opening to her clit. Anaijiah cried out, her head falling back. Nevaieh’s grip was iron, holding her in place as she ate her with a single-minded, brutal focus. There was no teasing build, just an immediate, relentless assault. Her tongue speared inside, then curled upwards, and Anaijiah’s vision spotted.
She came fast, shockingly so, her orgasm a sharp, bright burst that made her thighs clamp around Nevaieh’s head. Nevaieh didn’t stop. She growled into her, the vibrations prolonging the shocks, and kept licking, sucking her clit until Anaijiah was sobbing, pushing at her shoulders from overstimulation.
Only then did Nevaieh pull back, her chin glistening. She looked utterly feral. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, never breaking eye contact.
“Now,” she said, her voice wrecked. She fumbled with her belt, her jeans, shoving them down just enough to free herself. She was fully hard, thick and angry-looking. She spat into her palm, slicking herself roughly. “You’re gonna ride me. You’re gonna fuck yourself on my cock until you come again. And you’re gonna look at me the whole time.”
She guided Anaijiah’s hips, the head of her cock pressing insistently against Anaijiah’s entrance. Anaijiah, her body still trembling from the first climax, lowered herself slowly. The stretch was exquisite, a burning fullness that stole her breath. She sank down inch by torturous inch until she was fully seated, Nevaieh buried deep inside her.
“Move,” Nevaieh commanded, her hands gripping Anaijiah’s hips hard enough to bruise.
Anaijiah moved. She rose up, almost letting Nevaieh slip out, then sank back down with a sharp cry. It was a devastating rhythm, controlled by her but demanded by the woman beneath her. Each thrust hit a spot that made her nerves sing. She braced her hands on Nevaieh’s shoulders, finding a pace, her body learning the angles of this new, raw joining.
Nevaieh watched, her jaw tight, her breathing increasingly ragged. “That’s it, babygirl. Use me. Fuck yourself on it.”
The filthy words spurred Anaijiah on. She rode her harder, faster, chasing a second peak that was coiling tighter and tighter at her base. The sounds were obscene: skin slapping, their mingled grunts, the wet, rhythmic squelch of their joining.
“Gonna come,” Anaijiah gasped, her rhythm starting to falter.
“Not yet,” Nevaieh snarled. She suddenly bucked her hips up, driving deeper, taking over the pace. It was faster, harder, punching the air from Anaijiah’s lungs. “Now. Come now.”
It was an order she couldn’t disobey. The climax shattered her, a wave of pure, mindless pleasure that wiped every thought clean. She convulsed, her inner muscles clamping down on Nevaieh in rhythmic pulses, a silent scream on her lips.
Nevaieh followed her over the edge with a choked, guttural shout, her hips pumping up erratically as she emptied herself inside Anaijiah in hot, pulsing jets. They collapsed together into the sofa, a sweaty, spent heap of tangled limbs.
The blunt smoldered in the ashtray, forgotten. The only sound was their ragged breathing slowing in the dark room. Nevaieh’s hand, limp now, stroked the back of Anaijiah’s thigh.
After a long while, Nevaieh shifted, pulling Anaijiah more securely against her. She pressed a kiss, surprisingly soft, to her temple. “The car will be there at eight,” she murmured, her voice rough with smoke and exertion. “Be ready.”